


sugar sweet

by Val_Creative



Series: IT Movies Fic-Palooza 2019 [30]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adult Bill Denbrough, Adult Mike Hanlon, Baking, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Domestic Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Love, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Old Married Couple, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Romance, Some Humor, Writer Bill Denbrough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 16:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: It’s been a whirlwind romance since Mike left Derry and showed up at Bill’s doorstep. Bill can’t imagine spending his life with anyone else. He and Mike eventually decided to move in together, choosing to reside in rural Pennsylvania and far from civilization.





	sugar sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isaac_McCa11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isaac_McCa11/gifts).

> Requested by Isaac_McCa11 (AO3): "hanbrough w them baking together? Like as adults? Not nsfw, just sweet baking fluff with the great British bake off in the background." SUPER DUPER CUTE. I LOVE THEM. -SWOONS- AND I HOPE EVERYONE LIKES IT TOO. THANKS FOR READING!
> 
> ((Want a request for IT? I'm doing 100-1000 word fics of any friendship or romantic ship + any prompt until I feel like quitting. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a friendship or romantic ship + prompt. You need to specify if you want SFW or NSFW (for 18+ readers only). Please check [Full Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1478582). The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))

*

Bill loves the view of their farmhouse through the wheat and high grass. The laundry-sheets drying and pinned up, fanning gracefully along in the wind. Lost, lonesome ghosts. He bikes Silver down a dirt road, and around the pond.

Fresh air helps Bill's mind and his creativity.

He's still on the New York Times' Best Sellers List for his recently published book, after trying something new in the genre of coming-of-age youth. A story about a boy named Michael and his friends, and about the haunted house on their street. Another boy—he lived in the haunted house and often appeared in a flooded basement. He was sad. _Trapped_. And needed the courage to leave. Bill considers the risk of using Mike's name but no one has questioned it.

It's been a whirlwind romance since Mike left Derry and showed up at Bill's doorstep.

Bill can't imagine spending his life with anyone else. He can't sleep in his bed without the warm, fleshy press of Mike's chest against him, their hands loosely intertwined. He can't kiss anyone else, witnessing the same soft, delighted look in Mike's eyes before their mouths touch.

He and Mike eventually decided to move in together, choosing to reside in rural Pennsylvania and far from civilization.

Mike started out as a helping hand with livestock and herding, working with the nearby farmers. Then, Mike discovered horses. Grooming them, watering them, learning about their behavior and riding them. Teaching little kids how to ride them without fear.

Bill lugs in the piles of groceries, finding Mike's already driven out to his job. Or so he assumes.

He preheats the oven, working on separating each item from each other. Reaching for mixing bowls and clear-glass measuring cups. The Great British Bake Off plays on the kitchen countertop, as one of the contestants realizes his ice cream has been left out by another contestant, flinging out the whole dessert into the garbage. Bill winces sympathetically, tuning out. He drains and chops up maraschino cherries, leaving them in a smaller bowl. Opening up the egg carton and brown sugar and walnut bags.

"What are you making?"

In the yard's back-entrance, Mike stands tall and haloed in the sunlight, grinning, wringing out a bandanna.

_"Mikey! Hey!"_ Bill calls out, smiling widely as his partner steps into the kitchen.

He begins to go on his tiptoes for a kiss, but Mike instead presses his mouth gently to Bill's hairline, over, and over, cradling the side of Bill's face and thumbing his cheek. A glisten of perspiration on Mike's forehead. He smells like old, crisp hay.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," Mike whispers, pressing another kiss to his brow-bone. "You didn't answer my question."

"Cherry walnut bars. I tried to cook them on my own as a kid, but I didn't do it right. My p-p-_puh_—" Oh, no. Bill forces himself to go silent, his fingers grabbing on the counter's edge. "M-My puh-puh-puh—_goddammit_—" he mutters, hating the stutter. It comes and goes still. Mike keeps cradling his face, nodding at Bill and waiting for him to take a deep, cleansing breath. "My puh-parents were too busy to cook for me every week. I had to get the recipes from m-muh-my Mom's cookbook."

"You had to feed yourself," Mike points out.

It's a heavy subject no matter how many years pass.

Bill's childhood had not only been shattered by Georgie's death, but by the aftermath with his self-hatred and grief and the negligence of Bill's parents towards their oldest. Bill makes a low, acknowledging noise, feeling Mike's hand drop. He mixes the butter, flour, and white sugar, getting everything crumbly.

"I had to feed myself too," Mike admits tonelessly. Bill's heart clenches up. He couldn't begin to understand the pain Mike went through in his life. "Mom and Dad weren't around, and my uncle was always working on the farms. It was that or go hungry."

"Exactly." Bill spreads and presses the crumble-mixture into a pan. Once it's set, he slides the pan into the oven. "I had to s-steal from my mom's purse to go get the groceries m-muh-myself. They were starving themselves too. I know I didn't want to die, and I d-d-didn't want to see them die too because n-n-n-_nobody_ in Derry cared to see beyond IT. She hit me across the face."

He's immediately sorry for the downcast expression on Mike. Bill switches the topic, raising his voice and forcing it pleasant.

"You wanna help, Mikey?"

At the moment of hesitation, Bill glances over curiously.

The stables are about twelve or thirteen miles from their farmhouse, and Mike should be heading out for his weekday shift. Mike eyes him, and then the back-door, finally smiling.

"If you have to b-b-_buh_-be somewhere else that's okay—"

Mike shushes him, embracing a flustered, pink-cheeked Bill. Their legs and hips bumping. "The only place I ever wanna be—" he reminds him, Mike's lips caressing on top of his, "—that's _right here_ with you, Bill. No matter what."

"Okay," Bill mumbles, listening and feeling to his partner chuckle in amusement, kissing him hungrily. His mouth opening against Mike, exhaling and relocking their lips, going slow. A faint, breathy moan leaves him, going up an octave when Mike's tongue fills him and pushes in, urging Bill's own tongue to rub against his. Bill's flour-crusted hand instinctively goes to Mike's face.

While they're leaning out for air, Bill frowns about the white streaks.

"Oops."

"No worries." Mike licks his forefinger and wipes a little bit of flour on it, sucking down. "Comes right off."

"You shouldn't eat that. It's raw flour."

Mike processes this, for a good, long minute, and then spits loudly into the kitchen sink, as Bill bursts out laughing.

It's good to be home.

*


End file.
